(below is from a co-participant of the Ottawa Street Retreat that took place in May, 07).

Lisa

Greetings,

My article was published today in the Globe and Mail entitled "Lessons Learned on a Street Retreat." You can pick yourself up a copy and look for the Facts and Arguments section (L6).

For the complete article, please read below.

Smiling,
Paula

----------------------------------------------------
A street retreat is a plunge into the unknown. It is an opportunity to go beyond our imagined limits ? a chance to see beyond our small selves, to begin to eliminate the barriers.

Early May, 2007. I am participating in a street retreat, organized by the Shambhala Centre. I have joined 15 others from across the country to live on the streets of Ottawa for three days and three nights to raise money and awareness about homelessness.

Fundraising seems like the easy part as I step out into a cold Thursday night. We?ve all agreed to abide by some tough rules of engagement.

We must sleep on the streets. We must avoid shelters so as not to take beds away from those in need. We?re not allowed to bring any money or food with us. In order to eat, we must go to drop-in-centres, beg, scrounge for food in dumpsters, or ask for leftovers from restaurants. We can bring one small backpack. I?ve stuffed mine with an extra pair of socks and a warm jacket.

I enter into a new relationship with a city I thought I knew. I laugh with meth addicts about desserts that are unidentifiable, converse about African politics over shepherd?s pie, and share hot dog humbleness with Sens fans over a crowded table at St. Joseph?s. I wash dishes with immigrant women, sleep on cardboard boxes and beg for money to buy a toothbrush. I share bittersweet truth cocktails with alcoholics and addicts, fathers and farmers, sports fans and passionate street poets.

These are the lessons I learn.

Lesson 1. Speak from the heart.

?Tell the truth,? our retreat leader explains when I ask him how to respond when confronted on the street about our ?poverty? situation.

?Tell the truth?? I gasp. That I have an apartment with a guitar and a drum kit 10 blocks away?? That I?m an educated young professional choosing to sleep on cardboard in parks and dig through dumpsters for beer bottles?

I assume I need a calculated fail-proof response. I prepare for this question as though it?s the make or break item on an important exam. When Chris, a regular at The Mission, asks me what I?m doing there, my white knuckles clench around my plastic spoon. I stare speechless into the blue eyes of this 30-year old opiate addict.

Finally, I tell the truth. And, in contrast to my fears, acceptance and gratitude are passed across the table to me. ?It?s really neat you?re taking the time to do this,? Chris returns. Then, he takes the opportunity to share his life stories with a stranger who wants to learn.

Lesson 2. Those who have nothing often give the most.

The sun breathes lightly through Strathcona Park trees, calling me out of slumber. I fold up my cardboard castle and sleepily stroll downtown to scour the city for abandoned bottles in order to buy breakfast.

A bearded, trench-coated eccentric outside the Salvation Army stops me on the sidewalk and demands to know how much money I have.

?Nothing,? I smile proudly.

?Nothing?? he questions. Turning to another street retreater he points his finger.

?And you?? he asks.

?About five bucks,? Amanda responds. She calculates jingling loose change from begging the night before.

?Five bucks!? he repeats. ?That?s all you two have??

He ruffles through his pockets, and after asking two of his nearby street family comrades to contribute, he offers us 10 dollars. ?This is all I have,? he says. ?You should take it.?

Lesson 3. There are no quick and easy solutions to poverty on our streets.? It is a complex issue that touches different people for different reasons.

It?s 7:55 a.m. as I file through the crowded cafeteria line at The Mission. Two boiled eggs and a couple of waffles catapult onto my plate from smiling volunteers behind the counter. I drop my tray beside strangers and within minutes our table is abuzz with stories of honeymoon holidays, hometown nostalgia and sports updates.

James, a shining young sixteen-year-old sitting beside me, was kicked out of his home after he told his family of his sexual orientation. Ryan, who perches himself next to James, was diagnosed a few months ago with schizophrenia and finds it hard to live on his own.

The next day, eating at a soup kitchen in Sandy Hill, I meet Lila, a former aboriginal teacher who fled her northern home to escape physical abuse from her husband. Reyna, a single mother, has a child with high health care costs, leaving little money to pay monthly bills.

Every night, 1,000 people like James, Ryan, Lila and Reyna stay in homeless shelters in our city. Countless others sleep on the streets or stay in cars for shelter.

Lesson 4. Poverty is only one piece of a street person?s identity.

Was I scared living on the streets? Ironically, I was the one people were afraid of. Passers-by kept their children close, their stride purposefully hasty, and gaze unwavering as I ask for food outside the downtown Loeb. I understand. I used to feel uncomfortably guilty ignoring beggars as I would walk ?busily? past.

After spending time with people in shelters, drop-in centers and the streets, the ?I AM POOR? stamp branded onto their foreheads beings to disappear. After three days, the label is barely discernable, and distinct personalities begin to emerge.

David, for example, is a father from Quebec, passionate about politics, and recently divorced. He?s come to Ottawa to find a job and a fresh start. Brian is an artist and addict from Halifax who has come here for a rehabilitation program. He speaks of teaching art to children one day, and his eyes shine of hope for a different future.

Lesson 5. I can?t begin to really understand what being homeless is like.

Of course, my experience only touches the surface of the true experience of being homeless. I have family and community, mental and physical health. No addictions. Secure in blankets of confidence built from years of soccer practices, drama lessons and a home to come home to.

What I didn?t expect as a temporary homeless person were the surprising moments of loveliness. In the half-drunken milk placed in my palm by an elderly gentleman outside the Salvation Army, after he overheard I missed breakfast. In the silent coordination of three young homeless men, who stopped to upright two overturned city garbage cans. In the numerous bags of groceries donated to our hungry bellies outside the Centretown Loeb.

I understand more now about those on the street corner, by bearing witness to those voices that rarely get heard. I feel more motivated to be a friend to the less fortunate, to donate clothes and to volunteer my time to local agencies. I?ll be lobbying for more affordable housing.

But above all I will continue to make a difference by challenging my own assumptions, pushing my own boundaries and taking the time to listen, learn and reach out to those in need.

Paula Richardson is a passionate young Canadian based in Ottawa who strives to cultivate balance, awareness and honesty within herself and the world around her. Her group raised over $8,000 in donations prior to the retreat for four homeless service agencies in Ottawa.

<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]-->
<!--[endif]-->

Last update : 12-01-2008 08:56